


Contagious

by d_aia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Battle for the Cowl, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gotham City Police Department, Gotham Press, Gotham knows, POV Jim Gordon, POV Outsider, batfamily, batkids, death of a minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: Jim didn’t know it, until Maggie barged in, opening his door with such force that it bounced off the wall and broke a glass panel. Whatever he’d wanted object was lost the moment she said, “Somebody killed the Joker.” His first thought was that he expected her to tell him the city was melting down, not to give good news.His second was, ‘Is the killer worse than Joker?’*The Joker's dead. Now what?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the universe (and characters, locations, personal histories etc as are shown in them). This is the work of fanfiction.
> 
> Warnings: Canon Harm to Children (in the past).
> 
> Thanks & Acknowledgements: I am grateful to [wwlw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wwwlw/pseuds/wwwlw) ([huntress](https://huntresses.tumblr.com/)) for answering the questions of a complete stranger with patience and kindness. She also writes _amazing_ stuff, guys, you should go take a look! And to Lex, who has reached new heights of awesomeness :D. Thank you!
> 
> Update: Once a week (Thu-Sat).
> 
> A/N: The story takes place in a murky future, where Jason still has his fingers in the drug pie, has never been to Arkham, has a set territory in Gotham (more like, a couple of streets), and goes on missions with Artemis and Bizzaro. Oh, and **Catherine** is going to be called Catalina by Jason because they were a Spanish speaking household. No connection to Catalina Flores. If you're okay with that, then enjoy! :D

Jim is straight as a board listening to the call. Speeding causes the car to take turns more violently and makes it difficult to hear, but that stopped bothering him a long time ago and now it’s just something he has to account for. The Gotham noise, on the other hand, is muted, frozen in waiting. Something big is about to happen, and she knows it.

Hell, everybody knows it.

Jim didn’t know it, until Maggie barged in, opening his door with such force that it bounced off the wall and broke a glass panel. Whatever he’d wanted to object was lost the moment she said, “Somebody killed the Joker.” His first thought was that he expected her to tell him the city was melting down, not to give good news.

His second was, _‘Is the killer worse than Joker?’_

The answer to that was not forthcoming, so now Jim, after reassuring himself that Quick Response Team was deployed to make sure it isn’t a trap and making sure a fleet of ambulances is waiting nearby, goes to see for himself.

Jim hits play on the recording again, even though by this point, he could recite the thing.

_“I killed him,”_ a young man’s voice rings clearly. _“I killed all of them.”_

Every time Jim hears it, it seems wrong. The young man seems lost, in pain or shock, but the quality of the recording doesn’t show it. It should be crackly, broken.

_“Killed who, sir?”_ the operator’s—Suzie, if Jim’s not mistaken—voice is calm. On the one hand, she’s a professional. On the other, this is Gotham.

_“The man with the creepy laughter.”_ The man swallows. It sounds painful. _“And so many others.”_

_“S-sir,”_ Suzie’s voice trembles. If that’s Suzie, she had an older brother who died young because of Joker’s schemes. It was the event that made her seek a career in law enforcement. _“Where are you?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“That’s all right, sir, I can trace your call. Stay on the line, help will come.”_ Suzie has recovered nicely. _“Are you_ _hurt?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Where are you hurt?”_

_“There’s so much blood… Everything hurts.”_ There is a long pause. _“I can’t tell.”_

_“Can you tell me your name, sir?”_

_“I… I don’t know.”_ Before Suzie can say anything else, the young man manages, _“I don’t think I… Hurry.”_ He doesn’t say anything further.

“Jerry is calling,” David says.

“Put him through.”

David puts the call through. “Jerry, you’ve got the Commissioner.”

“I’ve got twenty-three bodies,” Jerry begins. “My boys are checking pulses, but I’m not hopeful. They’ve got mostly headshots. And…” He stops. Breathing can be heard on the line. “One of them looks like the Joker.”

“Looks like?” Jim asks incredulously.

“It could be a clone or somebody who looks like him even after death,” Jerry tries dubiously. 

David isn’t impressed. “Isn’t Joker in Arkham?”

“I don’t know, not my business,” Jerry asserts. “But would you be surprised if he got out and none of us knew?”

“Point.” David sighs.

Voices are heard on Jerry’s end. “We’ve got a live one. Wasn’t the shooter alive?”

“Yes,” Jim confirms.

“He’s in a bad way,” Jerry says somberly. “He’s slashed, not too bad, he’s got two gunshot wounds: thigh and shoulder, and he’s bruised all to hell. He’s got a couple of ribs broken, that’s for sure, maybe even internal bleeding.”

“Make sure the building’s clear, get him some help, then take the bodies, and leave the building,” Jim orders. “Now’s not the time to risk anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Jerry responds and the call ends.

“Call Maggie,” Jim says into the dashboard. He starts speaking as soon as she picks up. “What have we got from Arkham?”

Maggie doesn’t waste time. “The Joker is out of his cell.”

Jim and David share a look.

“There was a life-sized puppet in his place who kept laughing, sir.”

_Could it be?_

*

As Jim gets to the site—Amusement Mile, who’s surprised?—a young man, with a shock of white hair through his black curls, gets hurried out of there.

“Find out where they go and put people on him,” Jim tells David. “Make sure you trust them.”

David nods.

Jerry takes his place. “Batman found explosives in the funhouse. The bombs are now inert. And you should see this.” Jerry gestures with his head.

There’s blood. A lot of it. Everywhere. It would be funny because somebody was obviously too enthusiastic, but this is Gotham and Jim knows it’s real. And there’s…

“Was one of them here?” Jim asks, looking at the remains of a chair.

“I can only presume, but yes.” Jerry studies the crowbar next to the chair. “It looks like torture.”

“You think it was our caller.”

“If it was— _and_ he survives—he’s out free.” Jerry smiles. “Twenty-two people. The Joker. It’s self-defense.” He shrugs. “The _Joker_ ,” he repeats gleefully. “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.” Jerry turns to go, but then stops and turns to Jim again. “Just saying and all, but I kind of want the kid as my sniper.”

Jim sighs.

*

“Is the building safe?” Jim asks the air because this is Gotham and she has…

“Yes.”

Batman.

“I’ll order another sweep and then turn it over to the techs,” Jim answers. “Do you know what happened here?”

“A slaughter.”

Jim doesn’t say anything to that. It’s different from what he heard and what he observed, but he fears he doesn’t have all the information. Again, this is not surprising because it’s Gotham, but it’s still frustrating. In these situations, it’s better to keep quiet.

“They were all slaughtered by _him_ ,” Batman says after a long moment of silence. “All on his conscience.”

“When did you get here?”

“About two minutes after the phone call.”

So Batman hadn’t seen it either. Jim might be the one with more information. That is a… novel place to be.

Then Jim had an idea. “Do you know him?”

“I am familiar with his work,” Batman says stoically.

What does that mean? “Did he work with Joker?” Because Joker doesn’t have enemies. Nobody likes—or is it _liked_?—him, but no one stood up to him. Just the Bat and his ki—birds and bats.

Batman snorts and it’s such a rare sound that Jim is sure that this young man is an exception to that Gotham rule. “No. He was definitely not working with Joker, but he behaves too much like him.”

That is too much bitterness for somebody who is supposed to be objective. This is personal. But how?

A question for later, because now Jim has one that’s more time sensitive. “Was that the Joker?”

“Probably.” His chest plate moves in what Jim has learned to mean ‘Batman sighs’. “Joker had an obsession with the… killer”—his jaw tightens—“that came to be reciprocal. I would not be surprised if it were Joker.” But he’s sad, Jim could see it plainly. “Since Joker isn’t in his cell, chances are good that the body belongs to him, though one should never rely on chances when it comes to Joker.”

That’s fine, except Batman is more forthcoming with the information than usual. It makes Jim suspicious. Just who is that young man?

“We’ll find out in three days,” Jim says. “For such a high priority”—Crime? Murder? Celebration?—“event, the city will find money for expedited DNA and other tests.” He studies Batman. “I don’t suppose that you’ll let me know before then?” Because Batman always finds out first.

Batman nods.

Jim turns, knowing that the conversation is over and expecting Batman to do his disappearing act when Batman surprises Jim.

“What is going to happen to him?” Batman asks.

And Jim is so shocked that he retorts, “To whom?”

“The…” Batman can’t seem to find it in himself to repeat the word and sort of gestures uselessly. But then his jaw sets. “The killer.”

_‘Definitely personal,’_ Jim thinks while he feels the urge to rub his temple, hoping that maybe that’ll impede a coming headache.

Is that too optimistic?

Well, it’s not like he’d still be fighting for Gotham if he didn’t have his own healthy dose of idealism, would he?

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Jim tells Batman.

And when Jim turns to him, there’s no one there.

Figures. 

*

“How is he?”

Ortiz sighs. “He has chances.”

“That’s not very encouraging, Doctor,” Jim observes.

“He should be dead,” Ortiz says. “We think he might he might be a little meta.”

“A little?”

“While we were doing the preliminary investigation, we noticed that he has a… somewhat enhanced healing factor.”

Jim frowns. “How enhanced?”

“If you were to take a rapidly healing baseline human, he’s a notch above that.” Ortiz raises her hand to show her fingers almost touching. “I don’t think he qualifies as a meta but I wouldn’t call him baseline either. He’s young, has a strong will and a well-trained body that, with the exception of scars, seems to have been kept in fairly decent health. When you help that a little, it may go a long way.”

“What are we talking about?”

“He has four broken ribs, three cracked ones, a lung got nicked, two bullet wounds, a sprained ankle, and hairline fractures on both hands and legs,” Ortiz says. “But the main injury and the reason you’re talking to me is that he has brain swelling due to blunt force trauma. In fact, most of his injuries are caused by a blunt instrument. He was beaten badly.”

“With a crowbar, we think,” Jim told Ortiz. “Would that fit?”

“It depends on who used it,” Ortiz says. “Like I said, he should have died, but we got him stabilized.” She pinches the root of her nose. “What you may not know about a meta’s healing factors is that they seem to have a degree of sensitivity. They always work on the most life-threatening wound first.”

Jim nods to show that he’s listening.

“It was lucky that we noticed it in the first place.” Ortiz changes tracks when Jim’s expression must’ve shown his confusion. “We were about to go in and do brain surgery when I asked for more pictures because he was hit twice and I had to work based on the already fractured skull. In those, I noticed that it seemed like the swelling had gone down from the first ones. It would have been imperceptible if I wasn’t used to seeing this type of wounds every day. This is perfectly normal, especially since he was put on fluids immediately, but it doesn’t quite work with the time frame.”

“Which is how you discovered the enhanced healing,” Jim says.

“Yes, but here comes the issue.” Ortiz takes a deep breath. “If the swelling doesn’t go down quick enough he might have permanent damage, but if I drill into his skull, his body might consider _that_ to be the main injury and stop healing his brain.” She looked to the kid’s room. “And bones are hard to heal so I don’t know how much would even focus on that. Besides, if we take the focus from the brain, he may not make it. Even if it did, brains are notoriously tricky so we can use all the help we can get.”

“Bother,” Jim murmurs. “How do you know so much about enhanced healing?”

“Batman has kindly provided me with study material.”

“Right.” Jim nods awkwardly, thinking of all the villains that Batman has beaten up. “So what are you going to do now?”

“He had surgery to repair his lung and the damage done by the bullet wounds, but as I said, I think that our best option for his brain is his enhanced healing so that’s all the work we’ve done on him so far. We’ve lowered his body temperature, put him on fluids, and now we wait.” Ortiz isn’t a big fan of waiting, Jim can tell. “If the swelling is going down at an acceptable rate, we won’t do surgery.”

“Can you guarantee that he won’t have brain damage?”

“I can’t.” Ortiz huffs. “He was hit twice hard enough or with a hard enough object to produce fissures on his skull. That’s where it stopped depending on me. I can only manage the harm done, I can’t undo it.” 

“He indicated that he didn’t know who he was. Is that something that you’d confirm after seeing his injuries?”

“Definitely,” Ortiz pronounces. “Both for the swelling and for the damage.”

Jim nods. “Permanent?”

“Before I answer that, memory loss doesn’t have to be physical; it can very well be emotional trauma, especially after a beating like that,” Ortiz points out. “But, on my side of things, I’d say that if he has amnesia it can be temporary, permanent, or anything in between. It depends on how much he heals.” 

Jim’s headache blooms.


	2. Chapter 2

“We found out who he is,” Maggie announces.

Jim lifts his head.

“We _think_ we found out who he is,” Maggie amends.

Jim lifts his eyebrow.

“We think _we may_ have found out who he is,” Maggie amends again.

Jim lifts his other eyebrow.

“He’s Jason Todd-Wayne,” Maggie says.

Jim blinks. “Jason Todd-Wayne is dead.”

“Yeah, that’s where it gets tricky.”

“Tricky?”

“Or weird.” Maggie shrugs. “Let’s go with weird.”

Jim sighs.

“Look,” Maggie begins.

Jim sighs deeper.

“Look!”

Jim wants to sigh some more when Maggie gestures violently.

“He’s got teal eyes,” Maggie says. “Teal!”

Jim shakes his head.

“He has wavy hair and teal eyes,” Maggie persists.

But Jim isn’t convinced.

“Dammit, he has black hair that’s tinted red, teal eyes, and dark skin. The guy is unreal. It’s like the usual people stood back and let a toddler with crayons have a go at him,” Maggie finishes.  

“How did a person like that not come up?” Jim asks. “Did all the journalists fall asleep on the job? Where’s Vale in all this?”

“It’s because he’s Ba—” Maggie stops herself. “He’s a chameleon.”

“Do we have any proof of his identity?”

“Did _he_ seem like it would be news?”

They both glare at each other.

“His father, Willis Todd, was in the system,” Maggie says and smirks. “We have his DNA on file. Now, if we could _somehow_ convince the city to pay for a test, we could maybe give this kid his identity back.”

Settling back in his chair, Jim says, “You planned this.”

“Prove it, sir.”

“Give me the folder.”

“Yes, sir.” Maggie obeys laughing.

“Let’s see if my powers of persuasion are still as sharp.”

*

Batman’s voice comes out of the darkness. “It’s Joker.”

Jim doesn’t jump—anymore—but it still takes a moment until it registers. He doesn’t ask if Batman is sure, that would be useless, but Jim wants to. “A clone?”

“Unlikely,” Batman says.

“Yes, he wouldn’t have the resources, but this is Joker.” Jim huffs. “I have to know for sure before we announce it.”

“Joker is dead,” Batman insists.

Jim isn’t convinced. Harley is in the middle of a pissing contest between Amanda Waller and Batman so she’s under scrutiny from both sides, and most of Joker’s operation is in Arkham or behind bars, but Joker got goons for somewhere. Added to that is Joker’s custom to use Arkham like his personal spa and Jim’s officially suspicious, so he nods but he isn’t certain.

“Are you going to hold a press conference?” Batman asks.

“No,” Jim answers. “I know you are sure, but I want to give him time to get annoyed and come out himself if he’s out there somewhere. We’ll be on alert the whole time.” He remembers what Maggie said, so he says, “We’ll protect the young man, too.”

“Don’t you already have some uniforms posted?” Batman is surprised, Jim can tell.

“We do.”

There’s a moment of confusion where Jim doesn’t understand what Batman is getting at and Batman has his own uncertainties, but the subject probably takes too many words to clear up so Batman doesn’t say anything about it.

“I meant that we’re going to increase the number of people,” Jim finally offers.

Batman nods.

*

Jim looks up at the intimidating manor and takes a moment to ask how he ended up here. Then he remembers where he is and chuckles a little. He lives in Gotham—enough said.

Walking up to it, Jim rings the bell.

The house looks creepy, but it’s obviously lived in. There are many lights on, a steady level of noise, and he can even hear muffled music. It’s as cozy as any gothic-style manor can be.

Jim chooses what he believed to be an acceptable hour, after dinner but before Batman-time.

“Good evening, Commissioner,” Pennyworth greets. “How may I help you?”

“Good evening. Can I have a word with Mister Wayne?”

“Is he expecting you?” Pennyworth asks politely as if he didn’t know everything that happens to his charges. At the same time, he’s making Jim feel bad for not having made an appointment. Jim wouldn’t have expected anything less from somebody who herds bats around.

“No, but it’s a matter of some urgency,” Jim says, smiling awkwardly.

A shadow passes over Pennyworth’s face, but other than that momentary non-reaction, his expression doesn’t change. “Come in.” Pennyworth moves as he invites Jim in. “You’ll have to wait in the parlor. Perhaps you can tell me what matter you would like to talk to him about so I can announce it to him.”

Not that Jim doubts that Pennyworth will know immediately, but, “I’m sorry, I can’t. The matter is a delicate one.”

Pennyworth’s smile doesn’t change.

*

“Commissioner,” Wayne greets. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

“What can I do for you tonight?”

Jim hesitates. “Would you like to take a seat?”

Wayne frowns.

“As I told Mister Pennyworth, the matter is delicate.” Jim gestures to an armchair. “Please, take a seat.”

Wayne listens as he says, “You’ve managed to scare me.”

Jim tries to smile calmly but doesn’t know if he succeeds. He never had to give this kind of news, and, though Wayne probably knows already, that actually complicates things instead of simplifying them. “It’s about your son, Jason Todd-Wayne.” He hurries through the rest since he isn’t doing this for the drama. “We believe your son is alive and in the hospital right now.” He can’t even imagine how hard this would be if Wayne hadn’t been aware. It’s going to be hard enough.

Wayne freezes. “What?” he asks, barely moving his lips.

“Your son is alive and he’s going to be fine,” Jim repeats.

With a loud crash, the door opens and the Wayne siblings flow into the room.

 “What?” Grayson-Wayne asks.

Drake-Wayne tries to be more helpful. “Can we have more details?”

Cain-Wayne and the little Wayne are fine with observing. Well, Wayne’s glaring. But the point is that they don’t say anything.

“Ahh…” Jim checks with Bruce Wayne.

“Yes, we were listening,” Grayson-Wayne says.

Wayne gives a quick nod.

“We have Willis Todd’s DNA on file, so that’s why we are reasonably sure it’s Jason Todd,” Jim tells everybody. He thinks he sees Pennyworth in the doorway’s shadow. “Other than that, he has fairly unusual features.”

“Is it his thighs again?” Damian Wayne asks.

Everyone turns to Wayne, and then they turn to Jim in askance.

“No,” Jim answers, although he has heard similar stories used as arguments to confirm Todd-Wayne’s identity as Red Hood. “I was talking about the teal color of his eyes paired with his hair color and dark skin.”

‘Oh,’ mouths Cain-Wayne as if it only occurred to her. She’s the first one, but certainly not the last. It’s like the family has never looked at each other.

“You mentioned he’s in the hospital,” Bruce Wayne says. 

“He was involved in an incident several days ago,” Jim begins. “He suffered a couple of injuries that I can’t tell you about without the confirmation of his identity, but he’s fine now.” He thinks better of it. “Relatively.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Grayson-Wayne asks, his voice trembling.

Jim turns to answer and he immediately notices somebody missing. “I’m sorry, that information is confidential until his identity is confirmed.” He pauses. “Where is your sister?”

“Getting the car,” Bruce Wayne responds as he sits up. “We’re in a hurry.”

*

“It’s him,” Grayson-Wayne says faintly.

Bruce Wayne nods. “I can confirm that’s Jason Todd-Wayne.”

Jim gets out his pad.

“What happened to him?” Grayson-Wayne asks. He sounds _crushed._ “What happened?” he repeats as he strokes his brother’s cheek.

And Jim is almost convinced. Whether Grayson-Wayne didn’t know about his brother’s continued survival, or, more likely, he wasn’t aware of his brother’s latest misfortune, he sounds sincerely pained. Jim knows Grayson-Wayne is a performer, but this is Oscar-worthy and he’s not that good.

“We’re still investigating,” Jim answers. Grayson-Wayne jumps and turns to him in confusion. Ah, so Grayson-Wayne wasn’t asking him, but it’s better that he knows Jim is in the room too.

“When did this happen?” Drake-Wayne asks, and if Jim’s not much mistaken he didn’t know either.

“Five days ago,” Jim replies.

Bruce Wayne looks down at Todd-Wayne, successfully avoiding all the questioning gazes directed at him. “He didn’t manage to tell you anything about what happened to him?”

“He hasn’t woken up,” Jim says quietly.

Drake-Wayne comes alive. “Why wouldn’t he? You said he was fine. What’s wrong with him?”

Cain-Wayne has once again disappeared.

“Nothing,” Jim says, and then backtracks. “He has four broken ribs, three cracked ones, a…” Jim looks at Damian Wayne, but at a nod from his father, Jim continues, “A nicked lung, two bullet wounds, a sprained ankle, hairline fractures on both hands, both legs, and skull, and brain swelling. Everything’s been treated, though the brain swelling might’ve caused damage that can’t be qualified until he wakes up. But—”

“Which should have already happened since I suppose he has been treated,” Drake-Wayne interrupts. “So why hasn’t he woken up?”

Jim lifts a hand, silently asking for patience. “Yes, he has been treated and you will speak to his doctor. The brain swelling has come down on its own, everything else is stable, and he’s as well as he can be for a man in his condition. However, he hasn’t woken up. It can be anything, but the doctor believes he isn’t ready yet. She’s monitoring him to make sure nothing goes wrong, but apparently, this is not that uncommon. You really should speak more to her.”

“‘A man in his condition?’” Damian Wayne asks.

“You said, ‘This is not uncommon.’ But it is,” Drake-Wayne says.

Grayson-Wayne turns his attention to Jim. “What happened, Commissioner?” 

“He was badly beaten and shot,” Jim says soberly after checking with Bruce Wayne. “Emotional trauma is a factor.”

Grayson-Wayne opens his mouth and sways. Immediately, a chair is placed under him by a concerned looking Damian Wayne. “Thanks, Dami,” Grayson-Wayne says roughly. He blinks hard a couple of times.

“With a crowbar?” Damian Wayne asks. “The tool To—my brother was beaten with, was it a crowbar?”

And Jim doesn’t know how to deal with the Waynes, especially when they are children because even if Jim ignores the fact that they risk their lives on a daily basis, which he mostly can’t, they are varying degrees of awful at keeping secrets. He gets ready to pretend he doesn’t understand when he sees that Damian Wayne isn’t even looking at him. His eyes are fixed on Todd-Wayne’s arm.  

“Ah… we believe it was, yes,” Jim replies hesitantly.

Damian Wayne gives a solemn little nod. “It left bruises.”

“What?!” Grayson-Wayne jumps as if stung.

“On his arm, underneath his elbow,” Damian Wayne says.

When Grayson-Wayne moves Todd-Wayne’s elbow, there are distinct bruises in the shape of a crowbar’s business end. Swallowing with difficulty, Grayson-Wayne glares at Bruce Wayne. The Waynes are going to drop appearances, what little of them is left, with Jim in the room.

“Perhaps you can call the doctor, now,” Drake-Wayne tells Jim, ushering him out.

Jim breaths a quick relieved breath and nods. He sends the uniforms outside, all three of them, after Ortiz and stands close to the door. With that small effort made for his conscience, he prepares to listen in. After all, how else would find out even a fraction of what goes on in Gotham?

“It was Joker,” Drake-Wayne says.

There’s silence, then, Bruce Wayne says, “Yes.” Then again, just as quietly, “With several of his men.”

Somebody releases a breath like the air is punched out of him and Jim would bet that’s Grayson-Wayne. And sure enough, his voice is heard next. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It wasn’t necessary,” Bruce Wayne says and Jim winces. That is not a good reply.

A strangled laugh follows.

“What happened to the Joker?” Drake-Wayne struggles to keep the conversation going. Probably afraid it’s going straight the way of punches and Jim agrees. “Did you catch him?”

“Jason killed him before I got there,” Bruce Wayne says in a sober tone.

It’s followed by a period of silence.

“Why are you nodding?” Drake-Wayne hisses. “Did you know about this?”

“It simply makes sense,” Damian Wayne replies idly. “Todd has survived on the streets of Gotham many months and, after that, he has faced trained assassins, all the while brain-damaged. He has the muscle memory to defend himself, and more, even with his brain in less than pristine condition.”

_Sheesh, kid._

“I think we’re losing sight of what’s important here.” Apparently, Drake-Wayne is not as shocked as Jim. “He’s still not waking up.”

Somebody snorts, and Grayson-Wayne says bitterly, “Can you blame him?”

Everybody speaks next so Jim loses the trail of conversation.

“How many times”—that’s Grayson-Wayne as he raises his voice—“did we tell him: no, Jason, you don’t _need_ to kill him; there are more of us now, Jason; don’t be paranoid, Jason, the Joker’s not coming for you, we are all his targets; you don’t interest him, Jason; don’t kill, Jason, it’s not our way, and besides, _he’ll never get to you again._ ’” His voice turns into a growl. “We were wrong! And it’s not like we had to pay for it, did we?”

“Dick,” Bruce Wayne warns.

“No, you know what, no,” Grayson-Wayne snaps back. “It was as Jay said. His killer beat the crap out of him again, and we? We weren’t there.” He whispers something, then louder he says, “I, for one, am not surprised that he has had it with all of us and/or with the world.” A chair creaks. “Dammit, Little Wing.”

“There may be another thing,” Damian Wayne says. “In addition, I mean. What happens to him when Todd _does_ awake?”

“Arkham or Blackgate,” Bruce Wayne replies.

Jim is taken aback.

“No,” Drake-Wayne protests. “I know how you feel about killing, Bruce, but they have no reason not to assume self-defense.” There’s silence and he continues, “We didn’t hear about any equipment they might have found, and, even with that, he was one against several. In normal circumstances, they would think twice before prosecuting, but add to that the Joker and Bruce Wayne’s dead son? No way.”

There’s more silence.

It’s interrupted by Damian Wayne. “You mean he is going to escape punishment.”

“If you think about it, calling the police is pretty genius,” Drake-Wayne says with a not so small dose of awe and Jim feels offended on behalf of Todd-Wayne.

“You mean he is going to escape punishment,” Damian Wayne repeats incredulously. “Because what he did is considered… legal.”

“He means Little Wing will be free as a bird,” Grayson-Wayne says gleefully.

“It may be considered legal, but it’s still wrong and a step he never should ha—” Bruce Wayne begins, but Jim stops listening because Cain-Wayne is standing in front of him.

“Doctor Ortiz is coming,” she says quietly.

Jim blinks and tries not to take a step back.

“Thick walls,” Cain-Wayne adds.

“Very,” Jim replies.

Giving him a small smile, Cain-Wayne steps inside where all the voices stop.

Jim breathes a sigh of relief.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Jim’s office door opens with such force that it bounces back on the person who opens it.

“Damn it!”

Rolling his eyes, Jim asks, “David, aren’t you on night shift?”

“Sure.” David’s voice is muffled and, after gingerly trying the door, he reappears holding his nose. “Officially. But like everybody else in this building, you and Maggie included, I have plenty to do if I’m bored at home. And I’m bored a lot.”

Jim acknowledges the truth of that statement in silence. “And why are you haunting me today?”

“Sir.” David takes his hand off his slightly bleeding nose and Jim knows that this is serious. “The press knows.”

_Oh, no._

“What do they know?” Jim asks, happily embracing his denial. It’s fine, he can afford it. No one is in danger, which makes this is a rare opportunity.

David’s eyes narrow. “They found out about the Joker. And Jason Todd-Wayne. And his current state.” He puts a stack of papers on Jim’s desk. “Vicki Vale already wrote a story and so have the others. They’re all asking for comments in response.”

But Jim doesn’t want to look. He watches David for a second, the door, the wall next to the door—there’s a dent there that is getting bigger—then David again. Jim meets David’s eye and one of David’s eyebrows starts creeping upwards.

“I don’t… Vicki Vale makes my life complicated,” Jim says. He says it. Doesn’t whine. Just… says it.

“I know,” David replies with mock-compassion.

With a small sigh, Jim looks at the paper. “The Joker Is Dead.” He looks at David, who gestures for Jim to go on. “All Joking Aside. A Not-So-Standing Joker. Go Beyond the Joker. _A Crack Joker_ ,” he reads. “No.”

David snorts.

“They went there?” And Jim hates the smile that stubbornly tugs at his face.

“Yes, they did.”

“Are you going to deal with the situation _and_ this?”

“I’m afraid so.”

 “Why?” Jim whines. But he knows why.

“Everyone’s ecstatic.” David shrugs. “Plus, you know journalists. More guts than common sense.”

“Just make a mention that we caution against using such language,” Jim orders. It’s done anyway; not like they’re going to accept their advice. “What do they know about Todd-Wayne?”

“Almost everything,” David answers soberly. “They know about his possible amnesia, his identity, his family, that he killed Joker, and that he won’t wake up.”

“What else is there?” Jim asks.

David shifts subtly. “That he cut off the he—”

“I got it!” Jim interrupts with a warning glance. Then, because this is Gotham, he asks, “Don’t they really?”

“Just as we don’t,” David answers brightly.

Jim rolls his eyes.

 *

“Ouch!” Drake-Wayne, if Jim’s not much mistaken, yells.

“It bit you?” Damian Wayne sounds amused.

“It’s a rose,” Drake-Wayne growls. “It stung me.”

“I’m pretty sure that Ivy sent these, actually,” Grayson-Wayne says.

“So?” Drake-Wayne asks. “Did she put fangs on them or something?”

A long moment of silence.

“Who am I kidding?!” Drake-Wayne sighs. “It’s Ivy.”

By now, Jim has reached the door where his four uniforms have been joined by four of Wayne’s security personnel and they are all doing their very best not to laugh out loud. Jim nods at them. “Gentlemen.” He knocks and enters.

“Good”—Jim looks around—“afternoon.”

The room is _swamped_ with flowers.

“Good afternoon, Commissioner,” Grayson-Wayne greets brightly. “It’s a bit much, but it’s pretty.” He looks around with a wide smile.

His brothers nod, Damian Wayne a little reluctantly.

“It is,” Jim offers. “Has he woken up?”

A shadow falls over Grayson-Wayne and his smile gets stiff. “Not yet.”

“It should be soon,” Drake-Wayne soothes.

“Yes,” Damian Wayne says, his somber tone not comforting anyone. “He should.”

“Come on, guys,” Grayson-Wayne encourages. “Little Wing is strong.”

“It’s not like he has had any choice,” Drake-Wayne murmurs.

This is rapidly going downhill and not as it usually does in the presence of the Waynes.

They aren’t being obvious about their vigilante activities forcing everyone around them to pretend to be suddenly affected by temporary stupidity because that scar is definitely a bullet wound or they possess information they shouldn’t. Or hell, the most obvious of it, is them simply existing together losing members and gaining them as vigilantes and as a family. Sometimes, Jim sympathizes with Vale and her ‘done with your shit’ attitude.

But this is different. It’s simply a family that worries for one of their own and getting more upset by the minute. One of them is injured, it’s natural. And, though he wishes he had fewer occasions to use that knowledge, Jim knows how to deal with that.

“And he has you ready to support him,” Jim says and it’s the usual spiel, but one that he truly believes in no matter how many times he says it. He’s expecting their flinches, it happens. People don’t always get along and these situations are awful for someone’s conscience. “He even has the people’s support.” Jim gestures to all the flowers. “We can’t know what it takes to help him wake up, but I believe that every little bit helps.”

Grayson-Wayne’s grin brightens back up, Drake-Wayne nods decisively, but Wayne sneers. “Tt—Sentiment.” His hand, however, is clasped over his sleeping brother’s.

*

“He woke up.”

Jim jumps out of the chair, knowing that his people are good but wanting to be there regardless. He gets his coat. Opens his door—forcefully, the dent is there for a reason—and flies down the stairs. His mobile rings after he takes a few steps outside.

“He fell asleep again.”

*

“What is happening, Dr. Ortiz?” Jim asks, suppressing his annoyance as he can. “He woke up five times in two days and it’s almost noon, but he never _stays_ awake. Is this normal?”

“It can be.” Ortiz sighs. “I’ll do some more tests.”

“What do you suspect?”

“The same thing, Commissioner. He’s not awake because he doesn’t want to be.”

*

“One of my men talked to Todd-Wayne,” Jim says. “He doesn’t remember.”

Batman turns away from Jim.

“There’s a possibility it may be temporary and Dr. Ortiz is still running tests. Dr. Pope is talking to him to see how he’s coping with the trauma and to evaluate if the amnesia is faked or not,” Jim finishes.

There’s a long silence. 

“But he called 911,” Batman finally says.

Jim frowns.

*

“Okay, I’ll believe you, but _you_ look like you bench-press trucks for a living. Did anyone tell you look like Superman?” Todd-Wayne asks angrily.

“I thought you had amnesia,” a woman’s voice asks cunningly.

“I also have a TV,” Todd-Wayne retorts. “Where did you say you were from?”

“Daily Planet,” the woman answers. “Lois Lane and Clark Kent.”

Todd-Wayne hums. “That’s in…”

 “Metropolis, sir,” Kent volunteers.

“Woa, that’s weird,” Todd-Wayne says.

Jim frowns. His uniforms called him ten minutes ago to announce that Bruce Wayne let two reporters in from Metropolis of all places and they kept telling him ‘no,’ but he wouldn’t listen. Wayne security has left. Todd-Wayne seems to be awake though, and he seems to have it handled. That doesn’t mean that he should have to.

“Good afternoon,” Jim says after knocking and getting permission to enter. “I’m Commissioner Gordon. Mister Todd-Wayne, nice to see you up, but I’m going to have to ask your visitors to leave.”

Todd-Wayne shrugs. “Fine by me.”

“We have permission to be here,” Lane says without hesitation.

Jim lifts an eyebrow. “Whose?”

“Mr. Todd-Wayne’s guardian, Mr. Bruce Wayne.” If Lane is fazed by Jim, she doesn’t show it. “As Mr. Todd-Wayne’s mental condition is still not ascertained, Mr. Wayne’s permission is all we need.”

_Also, what the hell, Batman?_

“Do you often take interviews of mentally compromised people?” Jim asks, valiantly ignoring Todd-Wayne’s bark of laughter. Lifting a hand and stopping Lane’s reply, “Either way, you don’t have my permission. As Mr. Todd-Wayne was injured in the commission of an unsolved crime, I get to approve the list of visitors.”

Jim can see Lane try to think herself out of this one.

“And we’re not on it?” Lane smiles. “As we told Mr. Wayne and Mr. Todd-Wayne, we just want to have a quick talk. It’s better to get it over with; the press is going to haunt him for a long time. An interview will make all the attention die down a little. And with us not being from Gotham, we’re his best chance at objectivity. Yours too.”

“You don’t have a high opinion of our press,” Jim quipped with a polite smile.

“I’m simply saying that we are not in the Joker’s area of terror—that has gone on for close to ten years now—and so we have more of a chance to be away from any and all fall back that this article might have,” Lane shoots back.

Jim throws a quick look at the room’s other occupants. Kent is blushing, but supporting Lane, and Todd-Wayne is amused. He’s yawning too, which means that this needs to stop now or Jim would never get to talk to Todd-Wayne.

“Never fear, I took your reproach to heart, but I don’t believe for a second that you might be swayed by fall back. Or, for that matter, that you have Mr. Todd-Wayne’s best interests at heart, otherwise you wouldn’t try to get an interview while he’s still in the hospital.” Jim steps away from the door and gestures to it. “I think it’s time to go.”

Lane blinks. “But—”

“Now, please.” Jim waits for them to move. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

They weren’t even out and Todd-Wayne started making himself comfortable, ready to sleep.

“Can I ask you a few questions or will it be better if I come back another time?” Jim asks.

Todd-Wayne waves him on.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’m lucky I don’t remember,” Todd-Wayne replies with a half-smile.  

“How’s that going?”

“I found out I’m a tool.” Todd-Wayne laughs, teal eyes glittering with amusement. “My brothers were here. One of them told me his name is Timothy, but I could call him Tim. So I nodded and called him Timmy.”

Jim snorts.

“The other tells me, you know he was saying his name, but he tells me: ‘Dick.’”

“Mmhmm,” Jim murmurs, chuckling.

“I asked him if he wants some.” Todd-Wayne starts ticking them off his fingers, over Jim’s rapidly swallowed laughter. “I told Damian he was too young to act that old, and Cass that her sweetness only makes her creepier. And scarier.” He looks down and his lips curve into a smile. “They all crooned and told me I’m still me.” He drops his fist and wiggles around a bit like a happy puppy. “So, a tool.”

Jim’s heart melts. “They must like you if you were a tool to them and they are still here.”

“I guess,” Todd-Wayne says smiling. “It’s not like I can remember.”

“Nothing?”

Todd-Wayne shakes his head, a frown encroaching on his face.

“You called 911,” Jim mentions. “That was a lucky thing to remember.”

Todd-Wayne slowly lifts his eyes. “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ That is one thing that I remember. No context.” He is suddenly _angry._ “I remember that one very important thing in martial arts is breathing. And in cooking is always adding a pinch of salt to your deserts.” Like an engine being revved, he goes on. “ _Gato con guantes no caza ratones_.”

Jim doesn’t respond and it’s mostly because he can’t find something to say.

“Who knew I speak Spanish? I didn’t.” Todd-Wayne pants, this must murder on his ribs, but he doesn’t stop. “And do I even speak it or was it just something I picked up? Just a few words here and there? I don’t know. My siblings couldn’t tell me. Apparently, I wasn’t _alive_ when three of them arrived and the other—” He laughs bitterly. “The other just stuttered awkwardly and said he didn’t know either. Timmy offered to get me a Moleskine journal to write down everything I remember.”

Jim remembers a joke he heard today at the station and the dots suddenly connect. “Let me guess, you told him he didn’t have to skin a mole for it.”

“Yeah.” Todd-Wayne seems momentarily taken aback. “I did.” He frowns, then shakes his head and his anger comes back with a vengeance. “Oh, and knee pads are underrated. Where did _that_ come from? I _really_ want to know how I came to that conclusion. But I—don’t—know,” he spits.

Jim is taken aback by the rage Todd-Wayne openly shows. There’s hatred there, but there’s also powerlessness. In a few short moments, Todd-Wayne went from smiling to being pissed off.

Todd-Wayne is silent for a bit and then deflates. “What is going on? Why won’t you believe me?”

And Jim finds that he doesn’t care anymore. Batman’s opinion is not important here. He’s already proven that he has a blind spot a mile wide about this and Jim, as a Commissioner, has to do what the law says. Even when that’s waffling on some subject, his views aren’t always the same as Batman’s. In this case, Jim rather thinks that Todd-Wayne has suffered enough. If Red Hood decides to kill somebody else, then they’ll be in conflict again, but Jim is not going to stay here and terrorize Todd-Wayne for defending himself.

“Nothing is going on, I just had to clarify some things,” Jim says soothingly. “I’m sorry, try to relax. Everything’s fine.”

Todd-Wayne doesn’t because he’s apparently a contrary bastard. His eyes narrow and he looks about ready to sit up. Jim has to cut this short.

“Please tell the doctors and the uniforms posted outside your door if you do remember something,” Jim says. “I’ll try not to let anyone disturb you anymore.”

Todd-Wayne sits back down, but he isn’t convinced.

_Oh, well._


	4. Chapter 4

_“Bruce Wayne is here and they aren’t quiet.”_

That sentence makes Jim run to the hospital, where David and Maggie already replaced the uniforms. They both have headphones in but are clearly listening to everything. It’s moments like these when Jim is grateful for his age because it is expected of him not to be able to hear everything so he avoids uncomfortable questions. 

“How’s it going?” Jim asks, ignoring the raised voices for the moment. He notices that the hospital staff don’t seem to venture into the hallway and inwardly rolls his eyes.

David winces. “The kid tries to hold his own, but…” He shrugs.

“He is injured and Wayne is…” Maggie trails off.  Something must have occurred to her because she smirks. “Wayne is Batman-like.”

This time Jim’s eye roll is visible. “Do I need to interfere?”

“When they’re screaming?” Maggie snorts. “I hope you’re ready to say goodbye to your plausible deniability.”

“Is it still plausible?” David wonders.

Maggie scratches at her forehead with a pensive expression. “I don’t think anyone believes it’s plausible, no, but, on the other hand, no one cares.”

Jim sighs. “Perfect,” he mumbles.

“…have seen it’s an addiction. You’re out of control,” Wayne says.

“I’ve escaped your leash, you mean,” Todd-Wayne snaps back.

“I’m sure the brothers you tried to kill are very happy for you,” Wayne replies dryly.

“If I wanted them dead, they would be,” Todd-Wayne growls. “There haven’t been any headshots, any decapitations, and I didn’t unload my gun into their hearts. I trained with assassins, I know when a person’s dead.”  

“They have that to keep them warm.”

“Would you fucking come down off your sanctimonious horse?” Todd-Wayne is getting more and more agitated as time passes. “Yeah, they could have died. So could the million or so people you’ve left hanging upside down, beaten half to death. Do you even know how many of them you’ve left to rot in a hospital for their entire lives? Death is not the end-all of human suffering, Bruce.”

“That seems right.” Wayne snorts, but it doesn’t sound like he’s amused. “Blaming other people, never taking responsibility—it’s a familiar line with you.”

Todd-Wayne releases a noisy breath. “I wasn’t in control, after the Pit—”

“A lot of people have seen the inside of the Pit,” Wayne interrupts.

“I was and am volatile. Hell, I didn’t even need the Pit for that. But yeah, I have triggers.”

“Triggers? What could possibly—”

“You!” Todd-Wayne shouts, taking his turn at interrupting his father. “I…” He seems at a loss for words. “I kept getting thrown off-balance by you, and I lash out.”

“So it’s my fault now.”

“It’s not all about you,” Todd-Wayne says roughly. “I am saying this about a problem _I_ have. When you took me in, you were a giant for me. I would’ve done _anything_ for you because you asked me to, or you implied, or I thought you might like. It was… I wasn’t suited for that role, I was angry at a lot of things and I’ll freely admit that hasn’t changed. I tried, though, I did my best. But still, when you—maybe inevitably—fell, you had a long way to go. It wasn’t fair to you, I know that, but there you were, on a pedestal; where I put you.”

“I never asked you to do that,” Wayne says a touch quieter.

“You took me off the street, you were the first person who made me feel safe, you were Batman, and you knew the things I did to survive and you weren’t disgusted,” Todd-Wayne lists. “Is it so hard to believe that you could do no wrong in my eyes?”

“It wasn’t my intention,” Wayne says and he sounds honest.

“I don’t think it was. It’s not fair to you, you’re human, and I understand that, I do, it’s just that when you take that and you put it face to face with betrayal I lose my _mind_.”

“How did I betray you?”

“I’m not sure.” Todd-Wayne seems confused or maybe thoughtful. “I’m not sure if they actually were betrayals or if it’s just in my head.” He takes a deep breath. “I lost my shit when I found out you replaced me. Not years after, only months _._ You took another kid and you stuck him in that costume. I don’t even know what bothered me the most, the me-thing or that another child gets put in a prime position for a clown to aim at their head with a crowbar. I lost it.”

“It didn’t happen how you imagine it.”

“The result did,” Todd-Wayne says. “And… calling me your biggest failure? How can I… be expected to…” He trailed off after struggling to find his words. “Then there was the Joker.”

“Why must you ask me the only thing I cannot do?”

“Because you made me feel safe in the past and I needed you to still do that. I _needed_ you to protect me,” Todd-Wayne snaps back and he sounds like he’s crying. “I needed you to make me feel safe again.”

“I couldn’t,” Wayne replies. His voice sounds wet too. “I couldn’t do that for anybody.”

“That’s the rational argument. You overestimate me if you imagine that I was in a state of mind for that to occur to me.” Todd-Wayne’s voice sounds colder as he goes on. “I understand that. I mean, you know I don’t and I think the mentality is shit, but I can get that you have it.” He stops a bit, draws in a shuddering breath. “But do you _have_ to save him? I was ready to do it, even then, but you interfered. When you made the choice between me and the Joker, when you chose to save him no matter who stood opposite of him, how could I interpret that beside total betrayal?”

“I wasn’t trying to save _him_ , I don’t care about the Joker, I was trying to save you,” Wayne says passionately.

Todd-Wayne snorts. “Were you trying to save my soul?”

“I was trying to save your conscience. I knew you’d regret it and—”

Wayne trails off at the sound of Todd-Wayne’s laughter. It sounds wrong; a broken, feral thing. Jim’s hair at the nape of his neck raises and when he looks around, both Maggie and David are watching their shoes.

“My conscience? _Far_ too late for that,” Todd-Wayne says, still chuckling. “It was too late when you took me in. And before you say something trite about not making it worse or whatever, let me ask you something. How did you know I’d regret it?”

“I—”

But Todd-Wayne doesn’t wait for an answer. “The person who killed me wasn’t going to be able to do shit to me anymore and you thought I’d regret it?! Even, _even_ , if that’s true, which I can tell you it isn’t, shouldn’t that be my choice? Do you allow Alf to make your decisions for you? Selina?” He huffs. “You didn’t want me to do what _you’d_ regret.”

“Perhaps I didn’t,” Wayne retorted. “I don’t enjoy getting you arrested.”

“And you would have had to, right?” Todd-Wayne asks desperately. “Like you do Selina? Or is it that she always manages to give you the slip and you thought I wasn’t capable of it? Not even when you trusted my training enough to know that only drastic measures could prevent me from pulling that trigger?”

Jim wonders what those measures entailed and he makes eye contact with Maggie whose frown tells him she has the same question.

Todd-Wayne’s voice is muffled and Jim imagines his head is in his hands. “Forget about that, you aren’t right. I know you aren’t. _You_ know you aren’t. You bend that rule, but you weren’t willing to do it when it was me. That’s fine.” His voice becomes clear once again. “We were talking about triggers. I’m better now, I know what they are, so, at least, that’s that. It helps a bit.”

“That’s… I’m glad. But that isn’t an exc—”

“And fuck you,” Todd-Wayne interrupts, rushed and pissed off in a way that suggests he hadn’t even heard Wayne. “People react differently to the Pit, and none of them good. I wasn’t perfect, or controlled, or whatever the fuck. I never pretended to be any of that. You were the one who called me ‘a good soldier,’ not me. I am human. I make mistakes and I will apologize for _them_ , but not for being human in the first place. What the fuck?”

“You didn’t make mistakes, you murdered people.”

“I find that hysterical and hypocritical from the man who slit my throat.”

Jim’s world came to a screeching halt. He looks at David who looks like he hadn’t quite processed the information and Jim’s eyes move to Maggie. She appears to be in denial, an observation that is reinforced by her head shaking, but Jim can see the acceptance slowly seeping through. For his part, Jim is… waiting for a better time to sort his thoughts and feelings.

“You know the difference between you and me?” Todd-Wayne asks airily. “The difference is another kid, this one who said, ‘Batman needs Robin.’ He didn’t even question how fucked up that was or the simple fact that if Batman needed Robin and Robin was killed, maybe Batman should _stop._ But of course, he didn’t think that, because Gotham, the bitch that she is, needs Batman and she infested everyone who lives here so Tim fell on his sword.”

“He wouldn’t go away.”

Jim blinks, and he sees David mouth the words, _“What the fuck?”_

“You convinced me, Bruce. I am without arguments.” Todd-Wayne’s sarcasm is so thick, it’s a wonder he managed to get the words out.

Wayne’s voice is cold. “I don’t have to convince you, Jason. You’re a common criminal and have no room to point fingers. I won’t let you change the subject.”

“I take offense to the word ‘common,’ I did manage to steal the tires off the Batmobile when I was fourteen.”

David, his eyes wide, hurriedly bites his clothed arm, Maggie turns away from them, her shoulders trembling with mirth, while Jim smiles, shaking his head.

“It’s a wonder you can still take offense to something,” Wayne replies.

“I’m shameless, I know.”

“I can’t believe you,” Wayne raises his voice, incensed. “And with this stunt you pulled—”

“Being beaten half-way to death?”

“Pretending you’re a civilian!” Wayne yells. Jim looks at Maggie and David and is somewhat comforted to see them as horrified as he is. Wayne goes on, “You’re manipulating the system. We’re supposed to fix it, not take advantage of it.”

“Are you serious?” Todd-Wayne laughs, this time more towards bitter and less… raw. “You do it all the time!”

“I do not.”

“Oh, yeah? When’s the last time CPS visited you?”

Jim’s eyes widen.

“Do you really think that no one noticed that Tim or Damian or Cass are always injured?” Todd-Wayne demands. “Oh yeah, you make up some fantastic stories, you all missed your calling as actors or novelists or whatever. But. I _know_ that Damian and Tim have bruises all the time, and while it may be plausible for Tim to bruise like a peach, it’s not for Damian. And yet, somehow, not even a phone call from CPS.”

“And you think I arrange that?”

“I think your money does,” Todd-Wayne says. “Your fame. People liking you because you’re a philanthropist, or because you help Batman, or because you’re handsome—you name it. It’s still taking advantage of an unfair system.”

 “I don’t abuse them and you know it. It’s not under CPS’s purview,” Wayne says. “They want to help and would do it with or without my permission.”

“Are you telling me that you can’t prevent your children from endangering themselves?” Todd-Wayne sounds incredulous. “Run that whole ‘this is not CPS’s problem’ thing for me again because I happen to think this is exactly CPS’s business.”

David smiles slightly, shaking his head. “Did I say the kid was trying to keep up?” he whispers. “I was wrong, I humbly apologize. He’s as dangerous with his words as he is with a gun. I want to take notes and ask for an autograph.”

“Shots fired,” Maggie mumbles in agreement.

“What would _you_ do then?” Wayne asks tersely.

“I’m not their father and, until I am, I should not be expected to have an opinion,” Todd-Wayne says plainly. “That doesn’t make me unqualified to point out abuse when I see it because, unfortunately for you, it doesn’t work like that. _But._ Tim does his best work from his desk anyway. At least, he won’t be out there, hitting the streets on two hours of sleep. By the way, how did you swing hiring him as a VP and not breaking child labor laws? And doesn’t he do enough by being VP to a company that helps people?”

David mouths ‘pow-pow.’

“Have you thought about them volunteering?” Todd-Wayne goes on. “I think that Damian could do a lot of good by teaching self-defense at a community center. There’s a difference between fishing for someone and teaching them how to fish and all that. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to stay all night, but add to that his training, and he’d still only get, at most, five or six hours of sleep.”

“Until they’re eighteen.”

“I mean, Damian will probably come after me with his katana for this, but that’s the idea,” Todd-Wayne says. “After that, make sure it’s their choice if they want to come back. They will because _they_ are good soldiers and, more important than that, it’s all they know.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“What will you do?”

“I think you sometimes forget that Tim comes the closest to you as far as childhood experience goes. He didn’t have the attention, but you still moved in the same circles. Dick had the love, but few resources. Damian had the resources, but had less love. Me and Cass, we are the ones with a completely different experience,” Todd-Wayne says easily. “I had a bit of the love, Cassie kind of had resources, but _I_ am from Gotham and she’s in my bones.”

And Jim feels like that’s important somehow.

“ _They_ are your responsibility, not me.” Todd-Wayne laughs a little and it’s creepy how honestly amused he sounds when the words break Jim’s heart. “I’ll be with the Outlaws or in Crime Alley, doing stuff that disappoints you. Unless we’ll meet on opposite sides, I’m not your problem.”

“The Outlaws?”

“Artemis has been by.”

Jim glances at Maggie to confirm and he receives her nod. She also shrugs. Maggie doesn’t know who Artemis is either.

In the following silence, Wayne speaks carefully, “I may be bad at showing it, Jason, but I care for you. I lo—”

“I believe you,” Todd-Wayne says, though the interruption shows the opposite. “I believe you and I wonder… if I’m as bad as mom. As Catalina, I mean. She always believed my father too.”

“Headshot,” Jim murmurs.

“On the other hand, I lost my shit and your sons suffered for it.” Todd-Wayne sounds weary. “I think we’re better off going our own ways. You never belonged in Crime Alley, anyway, you were just an unfortunate tourist, in a place where there is no other kind. We shouldn’t overlap.”

There’s determination in Wayne’s voice when he says, “I understand.”

“Good.” Todd-Wayne’s voice sounds softer and softer. “Great.”

But Wayne adds, “I’ll show you instead of telling you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support =D!

The door to his office opens with a bang again and Jim holds his hand up. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Maggie nods. “I can’t say I can blame him though. The last bit of the conversation sounded like a threat.”

Jim opens his mouth.

“I know it wasn’t, but that’s what it sounded like,” Maggie defends herself. “There was something menacing about it.”

Jim sighs. “‘I will show you if it’s the last thing I do,’ sort of a thing?”

_“Yes,”_ Maggie vehemently agrees.

Jim sighs again.

“At least we know he’ll be safe,” Maggie offers.

“Safe,” Jim says doubtfully.

Maggie snorts. “Yes, okay, but he did manage to give the press the slip. That’s something.”

“That _is_ something.” Jim’s mood improves immediately. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, boss.”

*

“He’s baaaaack,” David sing-songs.

Thankful for an excuse to give up reading the instructions for the new software update, Jim lifted his head. He notes that there’s no more damage to his wall, which means there is good news for once, and asks, “Who is?”

“Re—Um…”

“Yes?”

“Sometime in the last two days, roses have appeared in Crime Alley.”

“Yes…?”

“With the inscription: ‘Red Hood’s Roses.’”

“I think I follow,” Jim says.

“And handy instructions regarding their maintenance,” David claims, becoming unusually excited about the subject. “For example, it says, ‘next time they need water.’ And underneath it, there’s a note saying ‘Tuesday evening.’ After somebody decides to take care of that, they take the tab, and the one underneath says, ‘Wednesday morning.’ We’ve watched and people really do follow the instructions.”

“That’s great, but why do I care?”

“We’ll come back to that,” David dismisses. “Over the existing inscription, which was written in black, somebody crossed some words and added others. It now says, ‘Ivy’s Attack Roses.’ The writing is done by hand, in red marker, and, by comparing it to school tests and exams, it’s Todd-Wayne’s.”

Jim blinks. “Did you just prove Red Hood’s identity?” He pauses for a second and sighs. “No, you didn’t.”

“He can just claim to be incredibly daring joking around about two of Gotham’s best known and it would be plausible because it would fit with somebody who killed the Joker. Of course, Red Hood’s incredibly daring too, but that’s hardly ironclad.” David shrugs. “We do know that Todd-Wayne passed through Crime Alley, though. The message changed sometime last night.”

“Why has nobody told me about this until”—Jim checks his watch—“two twenty in the afternoon?”

“I was waiting next to the expert for his report on the handwriting; it’s still pending, but I received a verbal confirmation.”

“Why hasn’t the message been put under surveillance, in the first place, when it was about Red Hood?”

“It was.”

Jim rolls his eyes. _Of course._ “You didn’t say why I should care about the roses.”

“Well, something—and I don’t know if it’s the threat of Red Hood, the threat of Ivy, the roses themselves, or all of the above—have had an effect on the denizens of Crime Alley,” David points out. “Now, I don’t know if it’s fear or respect, but they’re taking care of the roses.”

“Probably Red Hood if the Ivy message appeared last night but the initial maintenance one said something about the evening.”

“Yes.”

“Crime Alley is a part of his stated territory,” Jim mentions, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes.”

“Do you think there would be backlash if I went and paid Crime Alley a visit?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t advise it, sir.’

*

It’s ten when Jim climbs out of the car in Crime Alley. Every head in the vicinity swivels toward him, taking in his clothes, his badge, maybe even his face, before poker faces and downright expressions of disgust make an appearance. There’s a bit of agitation, people walking threateningly close, some even bumping into them, but then slowly, as he makes his way towards the famous roses, the street clears.

“Maybe Batman is not the only one that doesn’t belong here,” Jim murmurs.

Maggie checks around, her shoulders tense. “We’re not welcome, that’s for sure.”

They stand around for a minute or two, when Jim says, “Do you think they have a way to talk to him or should I start investing in a ‘Hood Signal’?”

“That sounds…”

“Dumb?”

“Dangerous,” Maggie replies diplomatically.

“Mmhmm.” Jim looks at the roses and the man who in the process of tearing the tab. “I guess he’ll show up when the street clears completely.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Maggie agrees. “How do you think the roses will survive? I mean, next autumn they’ll freeze.”

“No, they won’t.” The man bent over the roses raises and puts on a… helmet. A red one, probably. Dammit. “Ivy’s roses.” He turns and they hear the smile in his voice. “Most people here know where to find me, Commish. Hi!” Red Hood waves.

Maggie suddenly tenses completely. “What the fu—”

“Yeah.” Hood turns to Jim. “She’s just upset that I don’t melt.”

“You had my weapon replaced with a water gun,” Maggie accuses, making Jim check on his own gun, and yes. His too.

Hood shrugs. “Sticky fingers.”

“I need that—”

Jim chooses to interrupt Maggie, knowing that accusations and demands aren’t the way to go with a street kid. “Can we have them back, please?”

So does Maggie but she’s the one who pegged Jason Todd-Wayne as himself, so she equates him with both his fathers—not in the least because of his own actions—and tends to gloss over how he grew up. Jim would too if he hadn’t heard Todd-Wayne conversation with his father. Maybe it’s irrational, but Jim blames himself for a lot of it. There were a great many things he willfully turned a blind eye to.

“They’re in your car,” Hood replies. He continues when Maggie starts going for it, “Where they’re going to stay if want to talk to me.”

Maggie stops.

“I’m not usually disarmed when I’m talking to Batman,” Jim says.

Hood snorts and Jim inclines his head. He’d give Hood this one. The two have exactly one thing in common: they want to punish the guilty.

“Maggie, a moment please?” Jim asks.

Maggie turns on her heel and walks in the other direction, away from the car, and past Hood. “If anything happens to him—”

“I’ll touch just a hair on his head,” Hood replies and salutes.

“Thank you,” Jim tells her, ignoring the threats flying around.

They wait in silence until she’s gained some distance and then Jim turns. He comes face to face with Hood and Jim freezes in what he can only suppose is a comical pose, his mouth open since he wanted to speak. Hood leans even further, he passes his glove above Jim’s head, and then he takes a large step back.

“There,” Hood says in satisfaction.

“What was that?”

“I touched a single hair on your head.”

“…Right.” Jim doesn’t know if that’s witty or an actual sign of insanity, and, honestly, sometimes he wishes the difference is easier to tell.

“How are you with sayings?” Hood observes in a wonderful rendition of ‘that came out of the left field.’

_Insane?_

“There’s little politeness here and you have no reason to bow down to me—mostly because you don’t, Commish. You were treating me with kid gloves just now. _Street_ kid gloves,” Hood says, his voice menacing. “You listened to something you shouldn’t have and now, you know. Spoiler: it doesn’t end well for the curious cat.”

_Or not._

“Everybody knows,” Jim responds not knowing the terrain and going with honesty.

“What?” Hood seems taken aback and Jim doesn’t know why Hood would be. “About me?”

“About all of you. We’re just…” Jim shrugs. “Plausible deniability.”

“Hold up. What?! I mean…” Hood stops and shakes his head. “What?!”

“Bruce Wayne’s child dies and he takes in another. Robin disappears. Robin comes back, but smaller and a lot whiter. Maybe there’s more than one Robin, after all, at some point there’s a girl Robin, and anyway, the new Robin it’s a lot more clothed so it’s possible it’s the same one. Then Wayne’s blood child surfaces and another, darker skin Robin is seen,” Jim explains.

Hood is frozen.

“Then people start putting it together,” Jim continues. “The access to new technology is a big one, but just a piece of the puzzle: the difference between Grayson-Wayne and you; Nightwing; Grayson-Wayne and my daughter being in a relationship; Batgirl; Drake-Wayne’s girlfriend and Robin, followed by Spoiler; Red Robin; Cassandra Cain-Wayne and the appearance of a new Batgirl; a bat-wearing Red Hood and your survival. There’s a lot less difference between Grayson-Wayne and you, than you and Tim Drake, which is why it threw many people off for a while, but the sequence of events fit too well. We aren’t stupid.”

“When you say ‘we,’ what do you mean?”

“Police, doctors, press, officials—those are that I know of, but even the rest of the population.” Jim sighs. “Your family appears in a lot of papers.”

“Well.” Hood snorts and gradually breaks into chuckles. “When you say it like _that_.” He laughs. “I guess this is useless.” He presses something and his helmet comes off.

“Plausible deniability!” Jim yelps.

Hood has a red domino on. “I meant hiding my whole face.”

“Oh.” Jim smiles. “Yes, it isn’t necessary.”

“Why did come here?” Hood gestures absently toward the car. “I don’t think you were planning on coming clean.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“How are you?” Jim asks with a smile.

Hood shrugs. “Sore.”

“You recovered your memory,” Jim says calmly, but gently scolding.

Apparently, that’s the right recipe for treating Hood because he offers Jim a sheepish smile. “Things were fuzzy when I woke up and then I needed time to—” Hood swallows, “—think, so it was easier to not let people know that I was fully back. But then, B showed himself and he’s impossible.”

Jim almost slaps his forehead. What a natural way to avoid specifying a persona that Jim can’t believe he didn’t think of it before. However, if he had any doubts that Hood was Wayne’s son, they completely disappeared.

“Though that might be hypocritical of me to say,” Hood says and shrugs.

“You fooled everybody.” Jim reconsiders and says, “Almost everybody.”

“Nobody knows what happened to make me come back to life, but I later remembered that I dug myself out and lived for a good while on the streets even though I didn’t have my memories and was brain-damaged,” Hood admits easily as if that’s not shocking and heartbreaking news. “I just have flashes, but I remember running, fighting or defending myself, stealing food, hiding... It was all very—it had this present-ness to it, a sort of experience outside of time. So I took that and tried to make it less.”

Jim doesn’t even realize that he’s speaking. “I’m sorry.”

“Pity,” Hood snorts. “I love it.”  

Sensing he has made a mistake, Jim changes tracks. “What’s the conclusion that you reached? How do you feel?”

Hood shrugs and stays quiet for a while. “I feel… relieved. A hundred other things, but mostly relieved.” He raises his head and he appears to be watching Jim. “How’s Babs?”

Jim doesn’t want to talk about it. His fist clenches. He doesn’t want to remember that he has a personal stake in this; that this event touched his house, his family.

But he understands that he and Hood have entered a sort of unspoken agreement where they tell each other these things, and that somehow makes it easier.

“Annoyed that you got there before her,” Jim begins. “She is happy and relieved that it’s over, and annoyed that you killed somebody else.”

Hood chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Jim looks at him questioningly.

“What with her being Babs and part of the birds and bats.” Hood adds, “Except B, of course.”

“What’s his reaction?”

Hood snorts. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I gathered that it’s not good, but I think he’s coming around,” Jim says.

“Maybe.” Hood doesn’t seem to believe it. “His words say killing is an addiction. You know, ‘it’s a slippery slope,’ or ‘if you’ve done it once it’s a lot easier to do it again.’”

Jim nods slowly, mostly to show that he’s listening.  

“But he treats it like the plague. A state that automatically turns a person that has contacted it into a pariah; somebody that shouldn’t be around other people so they don’t become infected,” Hood explains.

“But there are laws—”

“—that protect soldiers and police officers and normal people who kill in certain cases. Yes, yes. But the laws don’t make a difference.” Hood throws his hands up. “I don’t think they exist in his mind.”

“Plague,” Jim repeats. He takes a deep breath and carefully puts it aside for later. “I will give him the addiction theory. I think it’s likely. No man should be judge, jury, and executioner.”

Hood snorts. “As long as the system’s broken, you’ll have them both—good and bad.”

“I don’t think people who kill others can be called good.”

“B will be happy you agreed,” Hood shoots back.

“I…” Jim trails off, feeling a twinge of empathy for Wayne as he does. Not because he agrees with the contagion theory, but because debating Hood is not as easy as it seems. “It’s case by case basis. Good, and bad, and in-between is established through a lengthy process which is why most of them have the right to a trial. Yes, as I already said, sometimes people are put in impossible positions and there are laws in place to protect them. That’s why we need the system.”

“I have nothing against it.” Hood puts his hands up. He adds, “In theory.” He lets his hands fall. “Look, if it’s decided at a trial, I’m okay with it. If it was decided by buying the jury, or the judge, or the witnesses; if it didn’t even get to trial because of diplomatic immunity or because they’ve left and are sipping Mai Tais on a beach somewhere; if they kill everyone who’s after them because they control almost everybody and are too big to take down, that’s when I start having problems. That and the punishment for rape is _way_ too lenient, but that’s your problem. You system-people and your lobbying or convincing or manipulating.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m no judge and I’m not trying to be,” Hood says soberly. “If I find a ring of child prostitution, you can bet I will go after those in charge of it and their goons. I won’t do it because I think I’m a judge or in any way entitled to, I will do it because they need to be dealt with. Hell, after I got _relatively_ my shit back together, I even try my best not to kill. But that doesn’t always work. In our world, where Superman exists, assassins are immortal, and drug lords survive missile attacks, I can’t always afford it.” 

“They’ll escalate.”

“How?” Hood asks. He gestures toward Jim. “By going after friends and family?” He gestures toward himself. “By torturing and killing them?” Hood chuckles bitterly. “They are already doing it. But I’ll tell you what.” Hood’s voice lowers. “If you manage to fix the system and I’m still alive, I’ll personally turn myself in.”

Jim sighs. “Chances are that you won’t still be alive because you make enemies faster than _anybody_ can possibly keep up.”

“Do you know another thing that’s an addiction?” Hood smiles humorlessly. “Helping people. Taking down the bad guys. _Vigilantism_. Yeah, I don’t know if B’s aware yet, but he can’t give it up anymore. None of us can. Maybe it’s different for the police, but he won’t be able to get the Robins out of this life. They’re hooked. And so am I. If I make enemies, that’s okay because at least then, they won’t be going after people minding their own business.”

_‘Maybe it’s different for the police.’_

Not really. Jim’s people—his _trusted_ people—have the same problem. Most have no free time, few have a family, and fewer dedicate any time to it. They’ve mostly signed their lives away. 

Jim can’t handle looking at Hood anymore. He’s in so damn deep and he’s so damn young that Jim wants to yell at the injustice of it all and at the powerlessness that he feels on days like this down to the marrow of his bone. Maybe Jason Todd-Wayne is angry for a reason.

“Though,” Hood says with a snort, “if you find a diced body in the next months, know that it’s me. Demon brat is vicious with that katana.”

A feeble chuckle escapes Jim. “But how will I know which one?”

“Good point.” Hood laughs, loud and amused. “This city is insane.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, really,” Hood says still chuckling. “If you manage to put a guy in jail in Seattle or Chicago, they stay there. In Gotham, you think twice. Or at… um, in England… what’s the name again?”

“I don’t—ah, Broadmoor?”

“Yeah, thanks. It’s been ten, twenty years since they got an escape?” Hood checks.

“About that, yes.”

“For Arkham, it’s been at most six months,” Hood says. “Come on, it’s like it has a revolving door!”

And Jim has to give that to him, but he still has to ask, “Is that why you kill?”

“One of the reasons.” Hood shrugs. “ _Gato con guantes no caza ratones_.”

“What’s that?”

“A cat wearing gloves doesn’t catch mice,” Hood explains. “Basically, you have to do what’s appropriate for the goal you want to achieve.”

“I still don’t think it’s the most appropriate way.”

“What about the most efficient way?”

Jim shakes his head.

“I wasn’t really expecting any different,” Hood confesses. “But when they escape, again and again, only to kill more of your good people, people that haven’t killed and are… just there? There comes a point when that’s on you. And maybe you don’t want the responsibility, maybe you—all of you—feel like you lose to them, that they beat you if you resort to the lethal method. I prefer to take the loss. That’s _my_ choice.”

Jim sighs. He sees Hood’s perspective, but Jim can’t do it. He can’t condone it, either.

“And the drugs?”

“It works and you know it.”

“You don’t have to do it either,” Jim tries. He tries so damn hard because it will be a shame to put this young man in jail, but Jim also knows he’ll do it. “You can decide to become a counselor at a community center or start a charity as you suggested. You don’t even have to take the world’s injustice on; you’ve done more than can be asked of you.”

“My choice, Commish,” Hood repeats with a bitter smile.

“I hope I never get to arrest you,” Jim says and his voice cracks. He wishes there is something he could do, but he can’t because as wrong as Hood is, he is also right. And it’s a truth that eats at Jim.

Nobody answers him and Jim knows that Hood isn’t there anymore.

“Be well,” Jim says out loud, hoping that Hood’s still in hearing range.

Sighing, Jim wipes a tear.

_Dammit, Gotham._

*

What helps get Jim out of the Todd-Wayne inspired slump is a news report. Jim sees it during a visit at Barbara’s, when they’re about to have dinner. It’s actually Barbara who spots the banner at the bottom of the screen and stops talking.

Apparently, at a charity dinner, Damian Wayne did indeed go after Todd-Wayne with a katana. There’s shaky footage, taken with a phone, of Todd-Wayne defending himself with a platter and a butter knife, and then an interview with Bruce Wayne. He has one arm around a suspicious Todd-Wayne and another around a pouty Damian Wayne. 

“Let’s be honest, guys, I didn’t think the butter knife would hold that well!” Bruce Wayne says. He smiles widely and, for once, he seems honestly amused. “I’m just happy that my children can be happy-go-lucky, you know?”

Eerily, the two siblings narrow their eyes in unison as they turn to their father. Bruce Wayne seems ignorant, but his smile falls a bit and Jim doesn’t blame him. He’d run, personally.

Barbara laughs. “This is going to be great!”

Jim looks at his daughter, at the two glaring brothers obviously planning their father’s demise in the most ridiculous way possible, and lets himself hope.

*

Jim’s hope is blustered two weeks later, at a different charity dinner. He is invited to this one because so was the Wayne family and people needed reassurance that they won’t duel with the dessert forks. What these people think that Jim can do, he has no idea, but he comes anyway. It’s for a good cause, and, besides, entertainment is guaranteed.

Apparently, a lot of people were of the same mind, and they end up raising a healthy amount of money.

Win-win.

At one point, though, the screams start. It’s a soundtrack familiar to Gotham. And so is the way they quiet down suddenly.

“Why didja have ta kill Mistah J?” a woman shouts in a child-like voice.

_Harley Quinn._

“Huh?!” Quinn insists. She sounds in tears as she asks again, “Why dija have ta kill him?”

Finally, the crowd coalesces into a mass of people who demonstrate their instincts of survival by staying close to the walls. They are watched over by what look like Joker’s men, though there’s no Joker and will never be again, and, in the center of the room, Todd-Wayne is facing Quinn and her mallet. From where he is, a step or two forward and making himself as much of a target as possible, Jim can see Bruce Wayne’s jaw clench.

“Harley, it’s over,” Todd-Wayne says calmly.

“It’s not!” Quinn shouts, stomping her foot. “I love him!”

Todd-Wayne inhales deeply. “Harley.”

“No!” Quinn’s voice in an effort to both maintain it’s child-like quality and encompass her pain turns into a screech that cracks in the middle. “It’s not fair! It’s not.” 

“And I love _him_ ,” Grayson-Wayne says as he dances around a masked man holding _a 1920s_ _machine gun_ —where do they find these people, Jim will never know—and calmly walks to them. “He’s my brother, but Joker tried to kill him. How would that be fair?”

Quinn blinks. “Mistah J does whatever he wants.”

Bruce Wayne, Drake-Wayne, and Stephanie Brown try to step forward only to be stopped by the disguised men, but Damian Wayne somehow manages to make his way to his brothers unbothered. In possession of four silver platers, he uses his brothers to hide his approach from Quinn though the rest of the room can see him clearly. He touches them briefly to show he is there, prompting them into getting even closer to each other in the quest to protect him. Cain-Wayne is gone.

“He did,” Todd-Wayne says.

Grayson Wayne hurriedly adds, “He was a bad guy, Harley.”

“Until he couldn’t anymore,” Todd-Wayne continues, ignoring his brother. “And that’s just the way it is. I’m not sorry.”

“Seriously?!” Grayson-Wayne says loudly.

“For him, but for you, I am sorry. It doesn’t have to be this way, Harley.” Todd-Wayne gentles his voice, nodding encouragingly. “You can be okay, too.”

Grayson-Wayne buries his face in his palms and groans.

“In situations like these, I require my katana, Father,” Damian Wayne hisses and nudges his brothers with the platters.

“How can I be okay?” Quinn asks, again stomping her foot.

“Time, Harley,” Todd-Wayne says.

Quinn becomes serious for a moment, enough for a glare and her fingers to clench on her weapon.

And all of a sudden Todd-Wayne has in his hands a platter and his older brother has another one—his younger brother kept two. Probably because he did all the work. Todd-Wayne and Grayson-Wayne use the platters overlapped as shields for Harley’s strike. That’s when Cain-Wayne appears from _nowhere_ armed with a vase. There’s a loud noise as the mallet hits the platers and the vase shatters on Quinn’s head. It’s followed by a brief scuffle: the party-goers, mostly the Waynes, trying to subdue their attackers.

By the time Jim has the closest man cuffed and security has appeared, Quinn is unconscious, Bruce Wayne’s guy is too and decorated in a table’s worth of food, Brown’s is on the floor, clutching at his blood-gushing nose, Drake-Wayne’s is wrapped up in a tablecloth, and another one by a red-haired woman is just out cold.

Jim’s phone rings.

“Sir, Harley Quinn has broken out of Arkham!”

Jim rolls his eyes and looks around. “Not for long.” The answer he receives is spluttering.

Then an idea occurs to Jim: the Waynes worked together.

*

But what puts Jim’s worries to rest is a viral video. In it, the Wayne children are playing a prank on their father. Jim pauses, looks around for possible interruptions, and, not seeing any, he presses play.

_“Do you know that prank where you move things one inch in a room and a person starts banging into things?”_ Todd-Wayne asks the camera, sounding gleeful.

_“We’re doing it to Bruce!”_ Grayson-Wayne yells from behind the camera.

In the process of moving a frame, Cain-Wayne snickers quietly.

_“You could help, you know?”_ Drake-Wayne, who is trying to move a truly huge couch, complains.

_“I am helping,”_ Damian Wayne replies nonchalantly, not bothering to even stand up from where he is lounging—on the huge couch. _“Someone has to supervise.”_

The video cuts to Bruce Wayne comically misjudging distances. He ends up on the arm of the couch with a frame in one hand—he had reached for a book—and his hand massaging his knee. The coffee table had rebelled. He has a priceless expression of confusion on his face that only grows when Pennyworth expertly maneuvers his way around to bring him tea.

_“Something the matter, sir?”_ Pennyworth asks and winks at the camera.

The video ends with the Wayne children’s peals of laughter and Jim closes his laptop with a smile. It was never in his hands and it looks like others, far more competent than he, have taken the reigns. Of course, it could still end up terribly, but still.

_Maybe it won’t._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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